


"I beg you, don't leave me."

by HeeLash



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Angel Enjolras, Asexual Enjolras, Café Musain, Drunk Grantaire, Drunkenness, Enjolras Has Feelings, Gen, Greek God Enjolras, Les Amis de l'ABC - Freeform, Les Mis - Freeform, M/M, Pining Grantaire, Platonic Love, Sleeping Together, absinth, enjoltaire - Freeform, joke, red wine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-23
Updated: 2014-04-23
Packaged: 2018-01-20 13:10:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1511711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeeLash/pseuds/HeeLash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Les Amis joke about R and Enjolras's relationship, R drinks too much and Enjolras has to take care of him... and R ends up sleeping in E's apartment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"I beg you, don't leave me."

It was a typical early-spring night at the Café Musain, and Les Amis de L’ABC were in the back room of the cafè, chatting and drinking as they used to do every once in a while. Jehan was engaged in a poetry debate with Courfeyrac; Joly, along with Combeferre and Bahorel, was in a corner discussing Roman history; Grantaire was drinking red wine at a table on the left; every seat was taken and every face wore a smile. Only one grumpy figure was sitting just beside Bossuet and Feuilly, but didn’t really care about focusing on the topic they were arguing about. That was Enjolras. He was staring at the wooden pavement, head drowning in various thoughts he didn’t bother to share. Suddenly he looked up, as if he had just then remembered he wasn’t alone, and found a highly noisy Grantaire, already tipsy, probably imitating some strange kind of ballet with a dark green bottle in his hands, almost empty and waved around like it was his dance partner. He stopped just to take a sip of wine and, with a glorious hand move, he announced that he had something to share with the whole group.

"My dear friends, tonight is no regular night: the sky is as bright as it has never been, you may have noticed that, and in fact I am sure you have, considered how your minds are always projected up high to the greatness of the infinite: your hope is high, your faith is high, your curiosity and cleverness are as high as the brightest of them stars; how could you ever avoid looking up to the sky, then? I must confess: I envy you, I envy you all. The stars above us are as shiny as your smart little eyes, finding their way to the gloomy streets of this dark world; streets in which I can’t help but lose myself, day and night, without even being surprised: I am fully aware of being little, insignificant; just a dull stuffed toy, one of those whose right eye is a missing button, for I know I cannot see right - sorry for the really bad pun. Why should I bother looking up to the stars, after all? I won’t ever be able to reach them. I am to think you will, Joly, and my bald Bossuet too; Courfeyrac, radiant centre of the galaxy, you will catch a bright yellow star; Combeferre, yours will be as white as the beard of Merlin; if a star is capable of being the colour of the daisies, that will be Jehan’s. For what concerns you, Enjolras, you will surely catch the most beautiful of them all: your star is the biggest that can be seen by human eye, the brightest, the one everyone naturally depends on, and by far the one with the strongest shade of red: Enjolras, dearest, your star is the sun."

Having the attention of every man in the room, he was preaching in a loud volume, with both arms spread and constantly turning around, facing now one, then another. He did so with such energy that at one point he hit a chair with his knee and almost fell down to the floor. The whole audience laughed and clapped.  
"Grantaire, could you please calm down a bit? You are beginning to look ridiculous." Enjolras said firmly, without moving his blue eyes from the pavement. The red-cheeked preacher suddenly froze, but he was laughing along with everyone else.  
"Don’t you enjoy my words, my leader?" he responded, smiling at the cheering audience. His cheeks were beginning to look vivid red as he swallowed another sip of wine.  
"You waste your time with this nonsense talk, and I can assure you alcohol has already gone to your brain."  
"And what of it? Does it bother you? Wine helps freeing the soul and expressing the mind. I did no wrong, just talked about stars, and danced a bit perhaps. I did no harm to anyone, did I?"  
"It’s pathetic to use alcohol as a help for talking: a drunk could not bear any serious conversation, you show that to us every night; it’s a shame and a waste."  
"What do you suggest I do, then?"  
"Oh, come on, R! Listen to your husband for once!" exclaimed Courfeyrac, who was gaily swallowing wine too. The sudden tease provoked the two boys to freeze and fall in an awkward silence.  
"Hus-what?" Enjolras moved his eyes to look directly at him. He was deadly serious, but the rest of them kept laughing as if he had told the greatest of jokes. Thing is, they very often used to mock their relationships, specially Enjolras and Grantaire’s; but they had never mentioned them two to be “husbands” before, and Enjolras thought that pointless and scandalous.  
"Ugh, don’t be so childish!" he roared, since the hilarity kept going on. He then glanced at Grantaire: he was red and still, bottle in hand, he looked a bit confused.. or maybe embarrassed, he couldn’t tell. He sat down and finished the bottle up while everyone went back to their conversations. 

After a few minutes Grantaire stood up, gripped a full bottle and declared: "I’m going home". Even if he was used to drink a lot, they hardly ever left him go home alone after a whole night at the Musain, or anywhere else, because even if he lived really close he was able to get lost or robbed down the street, plus it was use to all of them to go home, if not together, in small groups. Even if the sudden decision in the middle of the night wasn’t the norm, no one gave that much attention to him while I he put on his jacket and hat, but Enjolras noticed he had some difficulties with his buttoning, so he decided he would follow him outside to make sure he could go home by himself, because no one would have done it otherwise. He waited for him to walk out the door, told Combeferre he had to go, grabbed his jacket and left.

When he arrived on the outside of the café, he found Grantaire leaning towards a stone wall with his eyes closed and the new bottle pressed to his lips. It was already dark, but the light could still show his cheeks in flames.  
"Are you sure you want to keep drinking like that? How many bottles have you already finished?" Enjolras asked. The other did not even open his eyes, he just threw his head backwards wearily.  
"You know, if you want them not to joke about you and me, you should really not follow me like this. You’re not helping the cause, Enjolras, instead they’ll believe they have more reasons to laugh at you... it would be as if you cared about me at all."  
"Shut up, I just came down here to make sure you are able to walk home: tonight you swallowed way too much absinth, not to mention the wine."  
"I see no reason why it should bother you how much I drink. Anyway I live near and I still can stand on my legs, as you can see": he tore away from the wall to show he could stand and walk, but he was actually close to tripping on his own feet the first step he took. The bottle he held was already half empty.  
"Remember what last happened when I left you going alone some place?" Enjolras raised his eyebrow, severe eyes fixed on him.  
"You mean the Barriere du Maine?" he laughed "Come on, I was going to do as I had told I would! They asked me to play dominos and I accepted, I know, but it was to set the mood, to remember them we were friends and equals! Right after I won I told them: “the playtime is over, my friends, now is time for Robespierre!”, believe me! You stepped by too soon and said nothing, otherwise I would have explained."  
"Anyway," Enjolras rolled his eyes "don’t be ridiculous". He wondered how could he manage to end up like that and not even worry about himself "You’re coming with me." he decided instantly, then he stood there and thought: “what did I just say? Have I decided to walk him home? I am no nanny, I shouldn’t care and get back in the cafè. But how do I know he won’t get in trouble if he is left alone? He is pathetic and hopeless, this I already know, but I understand he needs to be guided towards the right path. He called me leader, I believe I am one: perhaps I can do something about this fragile soul.” He grabbed the collar of his friend’s brown coat and pulled him a little closer, then he started to walk without hesitation. Grantaire followed him instantly as if he had no other purpose than to be guided by him, but not before he could finish up his bottle of wine in one big, anxious swallow. He felt like he needed more alcohol to bear the company of his blonde friend alone; he was strangely nervous about that idea. He venerated that young man so much that all he longed for was his approval, but he seemed to achieve nothing but the exact opposite; without him even knowing, every harsh word received from Enjolras felt worse than the headache he got from absinth.  
"Wait" the stopped after a while, hesitating "We’re not going home." he looked around "This is not the right way to my apartment."  
"I know." Enjolras stopped too, but didn’t bother to look up. Instead he stared at the cold surface of the street with a hollow look. "That’s because we’re not going there. We’re heading to my place."  
Grantaire hulled his eyes towards him. His house? He was really taking him to his house?  
"You can’t sleep alone in this state. I’m not even sure you’d reach the bed. Consider this to be a favor, but it will be just for this once."

As they continued their route, Grantaire began to feel the effects of the last two bottles spreading around his whole body: while his sight became blurry, his feet could not quite sustain his whole person. Enjolras couldn’t help but notice, and he had to help him by placing a hand on his companion’s back.  
They finally reached the big wooden door of Enjolras’s building, and they started to walk up the stairs. Grantaire’s head was spinning, he could barely walk and he was about to trip every step he took. Enjolras quickly grabbed his arm to prevent him from falling, and the plastered man shamelessly climbed up his jacket: he looked like a wounded soldier in a battlefield. He suddenly felt better when he reclined his head on his friend’s shoulder, even if he wasn’t quite sure of what was happening at all.  
They managed to walk all the stairs like that, until they faced Enjolras’s apartment and managed to get in it together. Once inside, they both stopped and stood still in the middle of the room, one supporting the other without making a sound. Enjolras gently pushed Grantaire away and helped him so he could sit down on a chair.  
"Are you feeling any better?" he asked.  
"I guess, a bit..." Grantaire mumbled, stroking his face with both hands. He had his eyes closed, and when he opened them again Enjolras was gone, so he just looked around, confused and tired. He had never been there before, nor he had ever got close to it. The lighting was really poor since outside the sun was long gone, but a candle had just been lightened up and the window was open, so he could observe the room he was sitting in: its design was minimal, yet elegant. Enjolras came from a wealthy family, after all. There were lots of books piled on the shelf; maps and newspapers, cut out articles about French politics were spread around the table; a desk was filled with documents and black paper sheets on the right.  
Enjolras came back with a light blanket and a pillow, which he placed on the little red sofa against the wall. He had taken off his jacket, his blonde hair rested loose on his shoulders as he laid the blanket on the velvet fabric.  
"You’d better get some sleep now." his tone was still firm and a bit harsh, but felt a little warmer, because he wasn’t complaining anymore about his friend’s drinking habit – which he of course loathed, but in that moment he just wanted Grantaire to rest, he had never seen him in such a sorry state before. He wanted to care of him, after all, and he still didn’t know why he decided to in the first place. He walked out of the room, just giving his friend a polite glance that meant to say: “have a goodnight, get better soon”.  
Grantaire softly murmured “thank you” and proceeded to walk from the chair to his red couch, which was probably more comfortable than his own bed. As he did so he couldn’t help but give a look around the room, ending up with a curious glance towards Enjolras’s open bedroom door, which was by the left, brightened by one lonely candle placed on a desk near the bed. Just next to the bed appeared a human shape whose face was in the opposite direction. Grantaire’s sight was not really lucid, all he was able to see was the pallid, tall person moving in the penumbra and he simply stood there, staring blankly. 

That shiny, blurry figure was of course Enjolras, who was getting ready to sleep. He started to unbutton his vest, then took it off and laid it on a chair. He moved slowly, his damasked scarf flowed down his neck and landed on the bed. He moved off the view to take off his trousers, and when he appeared again all he was wearing was his white shirt and undergarments. Grantaire was incapable of moving: he had of course never seen his legs, and he couldn’t help but think that they were so well-shaped and light that they looked like they had been carved out of marble. Loose, wavy locks and curls flowed on Enjolras’s shoulders; the candle light made them appear like pure gold; the whole atmosphere was so soft and unreal that Grantaire began to think he was already sleeping and that beautiful, god-looking, moving statue was nothing but a dream: simply too perfect to belong to the real world.

Hypnotized, he couldn’t move his eyes from that blonde creature he knew so well, admired so much, and loved like he had never loved anything else. He felt dizzy, unconsciously he started to lean forward towards Enjolras, closer and closer, as if he was a magnet. His head kept spinning, he felt the urge to sit up because he was about to fall, he tried to do so but miserably fell onto the pavement, too stoned to even react if not with a low grunt.

The noise was obviously heard by Enjolras, who quickly rushed in the room to succor that hopeless, sweet drunkard laying on the parquet. Still in his open shirt, he bent down in the darkness like a succoring angel.  
"Are you all right? What happened?" he asked in a ruder way than he wished to. He hoped that his friend would have been already sleeping by then, and thought perhaps Grantaire might had fallen down trying to take off his shoes. “I should have helped him getting under the blanket too” he thought with a sigh, and raised a hand to sustain him while he tried to sit up.  
"I’m okay" Grantaire muttered with embarrassment, confused and sweaty. Was he still dreaming?  
He supported his weight with of both his arms and with Enjolras’s help he sat on the floor. He couldn’t understand which way was the ceiling, tried to look up: he found himself facing the marvelous sight of Enjolras’s face in the dim light, pale and fresh as the moonlight itself, his blue eyes fixed on Grantaire’s, his wavy locks beautifully framing the face. Sitting like that, with his head spinning and Enjolras’s hand firmly holding him behind his back, Grantaire felt his heart beating so fast that he thought he was going to explode and so sudden that he got visibly scared.  
"Hush, calm down." Enjolras, surprised by his fright, sweetened his tone in a mild demonstration of concern. Patient as a mother, he put his right hand on Grantaire’s head as if to protect him, keeping the left one behind his back so sustain him. The other didn’t really know why he was so frightened, but as soon as he felt those long, soft fingers gently ruffling his hair he let his head rest on Enjolras’s chest, and his heavy breathing returned normal. He had never felt so warm, so secure in anyone’s arms. He embraced Enjolras without even realizing it, his head was perfectly fitting in the space between the nude neck and the shoulder: in that position, he could hear Enjolras’s heart beating, sound that provoked a weird warmth inside Grantaire’s whole body.

What to do then? Enjolras had no clue, he knew for sure that that wasn't an easy situation, such embrace wasn't suitable for two people in their position: no friend would have normally done it; that grasp, that feeble breath, that heat... Furthermore, the one holding him was no regular person: it was Grantaire, the godless cynic he hadn’t even had a real friendship with. Why, then, they were laying on his pavement in the darkness of the night, tight in a warm embrace? The worst part was that it didn’t feel strange at all, it seemed like it ought to happen and there was no other way to stay if not glued like that. But he could not stay on the cold floor, both would have suffered major back pains, so Enjolras tried to move to make Grantaire get up and lay him on the couch.

"No!" was all that slipped out of Grantaire’s lips as soon as he tried to move away "Please," he cried "I beg you, don’t leave me." His whisper felt like the most sincere of prayers, the most desperate of begs. Enjolras obeyed: he didn’t move, but instead he grabbed Grantaire tight and lifted him up a little so they both could reach the sofa and, keeping their embrace, they sat on it. He knew that Grantaire wouldn’t have left his clasp if not asleep, so he patiently waited for him to loosen his handgrip while he stroked his hair. He looked down at his shadowy face framed by messy dark curls and buried in his white chest: Grantaire’s face, always red and open in a laugh, was completely different: he looked younger, quieter, his nostrils growing bigger at every slow blow of air, his eyes gently closed and the thin lips slightly curved in what seemed to be a smile. But even when the breathing of the drunkard got heavier, his right hand didn’t lose his grip, but it surrounded Enjolras’s hip and reached his back. The other hand slowly sled onto the other’s chest, gently pressing on the skin, almost afraid to touch that marble-looking flesh.  
Even with Grantaire’s warm body pressed onto his, Enjolras, being mostly undressed, felt his feet freezing; he laid the blanket that still rested untouched on their legs. He realized there was no way to move from there, so he had no other choice but to rest his chin on those soft dark curls and close his eyes. In a few minutes he was asleep as well.

-

The morning came silently, as if it was afraid to ruin the peaceful pair still abandoned on that small old red sofa: a few shy rays of sunlight entered from the window like ghosts, and as they flew though the air they grew brighter and lighter. From black the room became purple, then red, from red orange, from orange to a light apricot, then finally it showed its real color, real and radiant, ready to begin the day.

Hard to tell who woke up first: Enjolras felt something warm and spiky on his neck, discovering the dark brown head that used him as a pillow; Grantaire opened his eyes to the blurry view of a white shirt and some light blonde locks reaching his forehead. Enjolras’s heartbeat was the loudest noise in the world for him, but as soon as he realized what had happened it felt like a bucket of ice was thrown at him: he suddenly was lucid and straight up his own back. They looked at each other for a second, unable to speak, then Enjolras took the blanket with a mechanical gesture and wrapped it around him to cover his nude chest and legs, on his face rose a chaste blush. Grantaire too was again the grown up man he had always been, only his eyes had a different expression: embarrassment, confusion, excitement, even a little guilt; he stood still on the sofa while Enjolras, wrapped in his “cape”, stood up and faced the wall.

"No one must know about this." he proclaimed in a nervous tone, just before heading to his room.  
Grantaire kept still, laughed, then he turned his head to follow the blonde-headed angel that watched over him during the night, and his laugh turned into a deep sigh.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the very first fanfic I've ever finished and the first to be published online, therefore I hope you like reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it. It gave me so many feels about these stupid French boys. Ugh.


End file.
